


we don't make mistakes (just happy little accidents)

by bluesheets



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff and Crack, M/M, those two tags sum up the entire fic tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6974887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesheets/pseuds/bluesheets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, all it took was faith, trust and a potato.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we don't make mistakes (just happy little accidents)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the cap-im reverse bang, for the wonderful art drawn by sleepyoceanprince, which you can check out [here](http://sleepyoceanprince.tumblr.com/post/144927792888/a-maybe-slightly-chaotic-picture-for-this-years>). They were the best art partner and it was lovely to work together for this event! Beta'd by the awesome [coricomile](http://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile), any and all remaining mistakes are mine. A big thank you to the mods for running this event! Hope you like this cracky adventure of a fic!  
> Warnings: Brief mention of alcoholism.  
> Title is a Bob Ross quote, which is ridiculously perfect for this fic.

“Jarvis?”

 “Yes, Ms Potts?”

 “Why is Tony on a balance beam?”

 “Agent Romanoff suggested that it might improve his hopscotch game.”

 “And the reason it’s 6 feet above the ground?”

 “That would be Agent Barton.”

 “Pepper!” Tony beams, then promptly loses his footing and crashes to the floor. To her credit, Pepper only glares at him after checking for injuries. He heaves himself back up, resisting a groan when his body screams at him. Pepper doesn’t need any more ammunition to get him a full medical check-up. Why she can’t accept that he is fully qualified to know his own body, he will never know. (When he brings this up with Jarvis later, he is treated to a montage of his worst injuries set to the tune of Cotton Eyed Joe.)

 “Did you get the specs I sent for the new engine?”

 “Yes, I did. That’s why I’m here,” Pepper replies, her voice oddly gentle.

 “I didn’t accidentally send you the Downey files, did I?” Tony grins, leaning against his favorite worktable. It’s where he works on his personal inventions, where he perfected Jarvis and where he made his first breakthrough on DUM-E. He doesn’t consider himself superstitious, but he likes having a disconnect from his public Stark Industries work and his Tony Stark Is Fucking Awesome creations.

 “You sent me the Evans files, the documents for the Mackie-Stan merger, the design for the Johansson bike,” Pepper continues, voice rising with each word. “You even signed the Paltrow papers and faxed them over.”

 “You nag me when I don’t do work and now you’re annoyed that I am?”

 “I do not nag. Stop trying to distract me from your issues,” Pepper chides.

 “I’m being productive. For the company, even.” Tony grumbles.

 “You’ve done more work in these two days than you have in the last three months.”

 “Would you rather I return to alcoholism?” Tony raises an eyebrow.

 “That’s a real shitty thing to say, Stark.”

 Tony grits his teeth and turns to face Steve Rogers’ disappointed expression. Fucking fuck, if it was just Pepper, he could have worn her down by being even more of an ass. With both Pepper and Steve here, he can’t keep this act up.

 “Hello, Ms Potts,” Steve says.

 Pepper nods at Steve and they both turn to glare at Tony. It is truly a testament to his personal growth that he can see their concern behind their anger. He makes a mental note to send his therapist a box of chocolates. A therapist that Barton suggested. Tony will never admit to him how useful she is proving to be.

 “Should put a bell on you, Spangles.”

 “Tony.”

 “The work distracts me. That’s why I’ve been so goddamn productive, it’s nauseating.” Tony heaves himself off the table and claps his hands. “You happy?”

 “If your reactor is acting up and you didn’t say anything...” Pepper starts, losing the glare to worry at her collar. Steve comes up from behind her and rubs her shoulder. Tony spares a second to file that away for future examination before hastening to reassure her.

 “No, nothing like that,” he says abruptly, “I miss making weapons.”

 Tony sways with relief when neither of them reacts horribly. He has a minute to ponder that and wonder why he can’t hear what they’re saying. Their lips are moving, Pepper’s hands are reaching out, but his head is heavy and fuck - he’s blacking out.

 ---

 Tony wakes up in his bed, several floors up from his workshop. His mind is clear, though he can’t remember how he got to his bedroom.

 “Good afternoon, Sir. It is good to see you awake. I trust that you are rejuvenated from the twelve hours of sleep?”

 “What the hell happened?” Tony looks up and startles when he sees Natasha standing in the corner.

 “You succumbed to some much needed sleep,” she replies, walking over to sit on the bed, “Fury called Steve to HQ, so he assigned all of us to Tony duty.”

 “That’s not embarrassing at all. How did I get here, Jarvis?” Tony asks, electing to ignore Natasha’s smirk.

 “Captain Rogers personally brought you up here, Sir.”

 That reminds Tony of the various scenarios he dreams of in the privacy of his mind. He carefully avoids Natasha’s eyes on him.

 “And why did the good captain do that?”  

 “You collapsed in your workshop due to severe dehydration, Sir.”

 At that, the memories rush back into his head, bringing with them humiliation and regret. He looks up and tries to formulate a polite sentence to tell a highly skilled ex-assassin to leave him alone.

 “Stark,” Natasha says, and he doesn’t hope to gauge anything from her intonation.

 “You know what’s the worst part of joining the good side? You acquire a conscience. All the missions,” she spits out the word with a quiet ferocity, “They haunt you. And all the work I do as Agent Romanoff or an Avenger will never erase that. But every mission I do now, every shot from my gun and every asshole I bring down, it’s a penance for all my past deeds.”

 Tony doesn’t dare interrupt her. She never brings up her past voluntarily, and certainly not around him. He wonders what his face must look like when Natasha glances at him with an enigmatic smile.

 “You and I are different, Stark. For starters, I’m much better at judo.”

 “Hey, that was one time!” Tony protests.

 “And while it would be cause for alarm if I professed a fondness for my past, there is no shame in you missing what you once loved.”

 “My creations were the reasons behind more death and destruction than I want to know and you’re telling me it’s okay to miss being that? Miss being the fucking Merchant of Death?”

 “Not the end result of your creations, the process of inventing a new weapon.”

 “I never thought you would advocate the production of weaponry, Romanoff.”

 “Using my last name to distance yourself isn’t earning you any favors, Tony,” Natasha says pointedly, “The mechanics of a machine is entirely different from its usage.”

 “I don’t think it’s smart to design guns when it could potentially fall in the wrong hands,” he admits reluctantly. “Not that I don’t trust you, Jarvis.”

 “No offence taken, Sir. It would be arrogant of me to think of myself as invulnerable, regardless of my upbringing.”

 “Taking off the gloves so soon?”

 “I rather thought Agent Romanoff has done enough to help you see sense.”

 “Alright, enough sass. What does one need to do for some respect in this place?”

 “Be Agent Romanoff.” Natasha winks at the nearest camera, then turns back to Tony. “Confirmation that I’m the best aside, there are other methods to cope that do not involve working yourself to a coma or alcohol.”

 “At this point, I’ll do anything.”

 ---

 “Sir, you might wish to put them away.”

 “Jarvis, in the middle of something important,” Tony mumbles, tightening the screw in place and nudging DUM-E away. “And why am I telling you this? I programmed you better.”

 “You have a Nerf gun?”

 “You know what a Nerf gun is?” Tony asks nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just jumped five feet in the air, crashed into his bot, and fallen to the floor. He looks up and sees Steve laughing at him.

 “Clint.” Steve offers as an explanation.

 “That doesn’t surprise me one bit.” Tony grins, standing up and ignoring the pain on his side. “Why were you hanging out with Barton?”

 “I don’t know, Tony. Maybe because he’s the only one who’s not dodging my calls,” Steve says, pointedly.

 “What? That’s a lie, I’m always free for Captain America.”

 “Just not for Steve Rogers, apparently.”

 “That’s not fair.”

 “No, Stark. Neither is ignoring a friend,” Steve says, frowning.

 “For fucks sake, I was embarrassed. We didn’t exactly part terms in the best way,” Tony blurts out, a habit he should stop right this second. Steve starts to say something but he catches himself and shakes his head.

 The silence is almost painful.

 “Show me how to modify my Nerf gun?”

 “The cool kids say mod, Captain.” Tony cracks a weary smile, rubbing at his eyes.

 “Steve.”

 “I prefer Captain Glamor-Pants.”

 “Tony!”

 ---

 By some unanimous agreement, there is always a third person in the room with Tony and Steve. They always have a legitimate reason to be there, rely on Steve’s goodwill (Sam) or on Tony’s (Bruce). Natasha says she’s there to spend time with DUM-E and Tony can never be sure if she’s joking or not. Regardless of their entirely unnecessary presence, they all assist with the project at hand.

 Bruce patiently listens to him talk science about the modifications, which he then translates for Steve. Natasha, if she chooses to, coaxes his bots to hand the right parts to him. Sam brings home-cooked food and spends his time needling Steve. Thor and Clint show up together like an improbable comedic duo, the former peering curiously at their work and the latter obnoxiously chewing on popcorn.

 On the rare occasions they find themselves without a chaperone, they end up talking. This is an unexpected perk and Tony rolls with it. Tony was surprisingly the one to start the conversations - it was unintentional, but he’s taking the credit. He’s used to talking out loud to unearth his genius and, once, he made a reference to Bucky Barnes. Steve took it much better than expected, agreeing that Barnes had indeed been an insane shot.

 Things snowballed from there and somehow, they ended up in a heated discussion about sushi.

 “We had our fair share of uncooked food in the army and honestly, I thought winning the war would have changed that.”

 “That settles it. Jarvis, order us some sushi. We’re gonna educate this heathen.”

 “Very well, Sir.”

 Several hours later, Tony sits back with a full stomach. An air of smugness radiates from him as he watches Steve finish the last of the spicy tuna roll. Tony is content to have proved Steve wrong until it happens again. The next time they work together, Steve picks an argument about Thai food. Then it’s Peruvian, followed by Indonesian, and Hungarian. When they’re slumped against the couch and the credits for The Labyrinth are playing, Tony aims an unimpressed look at Steve.

 “You think you’re being sneaky, Rogers,” he says, waggling his fingers. “I know what you’re up to.”

 “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Steve demurs, giving him an impish grin.

 “You’re making me eat on a regular basis under false premises.” Tony accuses.

 “I plead the Fifth.” Steve chuckles, setting aside his carton of biryani. Biryani that he had spent fifteen minutes bemoaning its inclusion in cuisine.

“You’re a manipulative bastard,” Tony states, marveling that he’s directing those words to Captain America. Steve just gives an ‘aw, shucks’ shrug, clearly holding back a smile.

\---

“You are behaving like a cranky toddler, Steve.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“Not according to this text that Sam sent,” Tony says, waving his phone, “And you’ve spent the last twenty minutes making mincemeat of Nerf gun parts.”

“You told me to do that,” Steve retorts, but setting aside the tiny hammer he was using to smash the metal pieces.

“Only so you’d work out your frustration,” he shoots back, rolling his eyes, “But seeing as you’re still whining, change of plans!”

“I am not whining-”

“Not listening, too busy preparing to blow your mind.” Tony looks away, carefully ignoring the many different connotations of his words, and claps his hands imperiously. Jarvis plays the trumpets and DUM-E rolls in from a corner, holding a tray with a dome cover. Butterfingers tinkles a silver bell and You finishes the brigade with a solemn clang against a saucepan.

“You really went all out on this, Tony,” Steve says, giving him an unimpressed look.  “But I’m not hungry.”

“Please. We’ve all seen you get cranky when you don’t eat,” he replies, beckoning DUM-E towards him. The bot stops in front of Steve and extends the tray. “Go on, open it.”

“If something explodes when I open this,” he warns, even as he lifts the cover without hesitating.

Tony pretends that he’s not waiting for Steve’s reaction, but he doubts his pretense is necessary. Steve’s eyes widen as he takes in the display of the Howling Commandos made out of Starkcine, artfully arranged on blocks of the same material, a Stark reinvention of plasticine. Tony may have spent the better part of a week designing the clay, using 3D modeling on his holographic screens and then painstakingly molding the pieces.

“This is amazing, Tony.” Steve says, hushed. He reaches out to take the miniature Bucky Barnes, examining it from all directions. He refuses to read too much into the twinge of jealousy. He clears his throat and launches into an explanation of why his version of plasticine is clearly superior.

“- and I don’t know why there’s an argument about water and oil, when clearly taste is the obvious issue...”

Tony trails to a stop, voice squeaking in surprise when Steve sets the model down and pulls him into a hug. Steve’s arms around him are like sinking into a hot tub after a freezing day. Warmth seeps through his body and he fights to curl into the source. He pats Steve’s chest, ignoring his heart beating twice its normal rhythm, pulling himself out of the embrace.

“Tony, thank you for this,” Steve says, and Tony can’t bear to look away from the brilliance of his smile.

“So, do you want to make a Clint with warts?” Tony asks, desperate to change the subject before he does something irrevocable.

“No, I want to make him in a Captain America uniform.” Steve looks gleeful, already reaching for the red, white and blue.

“You’re terrible, Captain Rogers,” Tony says, voice raised in a falsetto and batting his eyelashes.

“Don’t I know it, doll,” Steve says, and instantly looks horrified with himself.

“Oh, Steve.” Tony pretends to swoon, laughing in delight.

“Stop making fun of me and come help me with the shield.”

“As you wish, handsome.”

“I will put Iron Man in Hammer Industries armor, don’t think I won’t,” Steve threatens, but his lips are speaking a different story.

“You wouldn’t, loverboy,” Tony taunts, a saucy smile and wink following.

Tony regrets his words when he walks into the common floor, the next morning. A toddler sized Iron Man made with Starkcine is on the table, outfitted with horrific Hammer merchandise. The monstrosity even has a crown shaped like the Hammer Industries logo. The Avengers are seated, eating their various breakfasts, and only Steve looks up to see his reaction. He looks much more settled than he has been all week, so Tony doesn’t retaliate immediately - but, Hammer.

“You will pay for this insult, Rogers.”

“Oh yeah, what are you gonna do about it?” Steve replies, then proceeds to take a selfie with the thing. “I’m sending this to Pepper.”

“Soon, you will quake under the power of my secret weapon.” Tony booms, imitating a minor villain from the week before.

“Bring it, Stark.”

“Should we leave the room?” Clint stage whispers. Before Tony can retort, the Avengers alarm sounds and they all have to leave the room.

\---

Two days after that uneventful call, Tony is bored. It’s just one of those days when nothing seems to happen and unfortunately he is wide awake. He is careful not to say this out loud, though. He knows that Jarvis has a protocol installed by Pepper if he even hints boredom. A protocol that involves his AI playing his favorite songs at the lowest volume setting, while he is forced to sort out the memorabilia collected by the Avengers during their missions. He once found a pair of scissors shaped like a shark, which would have been extremely cool had it not attempted to cut off his fingers. He is about to go bother Bruce when Clint pops his head into the workshop. Literally pops his head in. Through the ceiling vent.

“Why, hello Barton. How is my extensive ventilation grid treating you today?”

“Much better now that lights seem to have mysteriously appeared.” Clint replies, wryly.

“Whatever, I’m not the super. How should I know?” Tony dismisses, spinning around in his chair, throwing holographic darts at multiple dartboard screens.

“I see you’re having a productive day,” Clint comments, dropping down onto the couch.

“I need something that’s the opposite of productive,” Tony muses, walking about the room. He stops in front of the couch, eyes gleaming. “Barton, it’s your lucky day.”

“Oh boy.”

“Here’s the plan,” Tony starts, laying out all the details for the perfect prank to avenge his honour after the Hammer debacle. And if it doesn’t work, at least they can laugh about it.

“If I agree to this, you have to wear something equally ridiculous,” Clint warns, holding up his hands before Tony can speak. “And I will choose the outfit.”

“If you must.” Tony grudgingly allows for this, and they shake on it.

A quick trip to the Avengers’ store room and they have a costume for Clint. Tony is not ashamed in the slightest when they find that everything Clint decides for Tony’s outfit is in his wardrobe. He asks Jarvis to send a message to all the Avengers, while he prepares for his part of the show.

\---

“Why are we even here?” Natasha frowns, looking around the room for an answer. Steve shrugs, while Bruce and Thor look resigned. Tony grunts and ensures that his holographic likeness is seated alone to avoid giving the game away.

“To witness brilliance.” A voice echoes from above, and a stage slowly descends from the ceiling. Clint Barton emerges, an enormous cloak covering his body. He takes a bow and throws a shower of flowers to the audience.

“Just tell Jarvis how much he needs to set aside for repairs,” Tony’s hologram quips, winking at him. Any worse a comment and Clint might call off the prank, and that would be disastrous.

"Clint, just don’t,” Bruce imitates, shaking his head at the man.

“Hey, I don’t sound like that,” Steve mutters, pouting as he does whenever this is brought up.

“What is it this time, Barton?” Natasha asks, her face impassive.

“It’s not as bad as New Orleans?” Clint says, weakly.

“That is not a benchmark for comparison.”

“I’ve decided to learn magic,” he blurts out, ripping the cloak to reveal his magician’s costume, complete with hat and wand.

“I’m leaving,” Natasha says, but Clint’s quick plea in sign language stops her. She sighs and sits back to watch. Tony only hopes she doesn’t kill him at the end of this.

“Clint, you possess many gifts of this mortal realm,” Thor smiles, speaking rather earnestly. “I am certain that magic is not among them.”

“Not to worry, Friend Thor, all will be explained at the end of the show,” Clint adlibs. Neither he nor Tony had expected resistance, which was agreeably stupid on their parts.

“Any other questions may wait till the end, for now is the time to watch magic and reality bend.” Tony silently groans at the terrible rhymes; no matter what he said, Clint had been unduly enthusiastic about them.

Clint starts out the show with a few card tricks he had picked up from his time undercover in a carnival. Unfortunately, Tony agreed not to mock him in exchange for his performance. The card tricks were the perfect show opener, and he bides his time while his hologram makes the appropriate facial expressions.

“Pick a card, any card!” Clint cries, waving a pack in front of Steve’s face.

“It might help if you opened it,” Steve says, crossing his arms.

“It seems we have quite the wiseacre in the audience tonight,” Clint says, removing the plastic cover.

“It’s two o’clock, Clint. If this makes me miss my meeting with Hill,” Natasha adds, voice deceptively mild.

“Right you are, now look at this,” he evades, fanning out a selection of cards to Steve. “Pick one and show it to everyone else.”

Steve complies, rolling his eyes at Clint. Predictably, once the card is returned to Clint, he fails to showcase any magic. Tony resists letting out a cackle, only because laughing alone in a room never does any good. He checks again that the hologram is intact, grinning at the shouts aimed at Clint.

“Alright, alright. I’ll show you some real magic,” Clint promises, raising his wand above the hat.

“Oh hat of all wonders, release the rabbit within you!” The Avengers watch, amazed, as a rabbit emerges from the hat. Well, a rabbit hologram, but they don’t know that. Tony takes a second to congratulate himself on perfecting the illusion, before returning to the plan.

“I can’t believe you all think that’s magic,” Tony’s hologram emits his voice.

“Do you have no faith, Stark?” Clint asks,

“Magic is nothing but cheap tricks and misdirection.”

“You know what they say, Stark,” Clint replies, and that’s Tony’s cue. “Haters gonna hate, potatoes gonna potate.”

“Nobody says..” Tony’s hologram displays a panicked expression, before slowly blinking out of existence. In its place is a Starkcine piece, a potato decorated to look like Tony. Steve rushes forward, picking up the potato and placing it gently on the table, before turning to Clint.

“What the hell did you do?” Steve asks, eyes cold and serious.

“He was insulting the sacredness of magic,” Clint says, placidly.

“I’ve never seen you express an interest in magic,” he retorts, looking like he was a second away from punching Clint. Tony gears up, putting the pan on his head, ready to make his entrance when Bruce shouts out.

“Clint, why the fuck are more rabbits coming out of your hat?”

Tony watches in horror as rabbits of various colors and sizes fall out of the hat, spilling out onto the floor. He knows he should go help, but he’s frozen with panic as he looks at the pandemonium. In fact, all the Avengers are looking baffled at the scene, and then as a one, they turn to face Clint.

“I have no idea what is happening,” Clint says, dazed. He pokes at a rabbit, and only then does he start freaking out. “Fuck, these are real rabbits!”

“What do you mean, real rabbits?” Natasha’s voice is dangerous, as she nudges a rabbit away from her. “Clinton Francis Barton, explain.”

“It was Tony’s idea!” Clint confesses, still confused with the proceedings.

“You turned Tony into a potato!” Steve shouts, racing back to the table to prevent a rabbit from eating the potato in question. He takes the potato and cradles it in his hands, looking worried.

“Er, about that...”

“Perhaps the explanation can wait till we corall these creatures,” Thor interjects, nodding at the multiplying rabbits. “Albeit, if Clint would cease his magic, it would ease the process.”

“I don’t even have magic, that rabbit was supposed to be a hologram,” Clint says, and his words jerk Tony’s brain to reality. He scrambles to the elevator, hoping that the debacle doesn’t worsen in a minute. He keeps the video feed open, watching Clint try to make sense of the situation.

“I take it Tony had a hand in all this?” Bruce asks, using a newspaper to swat an energetic rabbit from another.

“Yes, yes,” Clint nods, looking at him with thinly veiled relief. “This was all meant to be a prank.”

“And that would mean, the Tony that you vanished was also a hologram?” Bruce says, just as Tony comes skidding into the room, almost falling over the stairs.

Steve looks down at the object in his hand, then back up at him. Tony can see the worry and anger on his face, and his heart sinks. This prank was a dumb idea. He waves the Nerf gun in his hand as a weak apology.

“Hi, Steve.”

“What are you wearing, Tony?” Natasha asks, calm now that she has all the facts in hand.

“Blame Clint,” Tony says, comfortable even in his ridiculous attire. The shirt is Steve’s, the thong is his own, the knee and elbow pads are Clint’s from his rollerblading phase.

“Tony, if that’s you, what am I holding in my hand?” Steve is glaring at him, and Tony’s guilt is welling up inside.

“A Starkcine potato,” Tony admits, bracing himself for the yelling.

“Thank fuck,” Steve says, throwing the potato aside and marching up to him.

“I know, I deserve to be hit.”

“You really do, I was worried sick and Clint had turned you into a potato,” Steve says, voice rising with every word.

“It was meant to be funny, like your prank with the Hammer merchandise,” Tony reasons, the attempt sounding hollow even to him.

“You’re annoying as hell, but I’m glad you’re you and not a potato,” Steve smiles, leaning in and Tony’s eyes widen.

“Sorry to interrupt, but the rabbits are still coming out of the hat,” Natasha says, not looking apologetic in the slightest. Steve moves away, but stays close to Tony, their hands brushing against each others. Tony wills himself to gather his wits - the sooner this mess is sorted, he can return to this, whatever this is.

“Jarvis are you manipulating the holograms?” Tony asks, skeptical.

“My omniscience does not extend to creating living beings, Sir.” Jarvis replies, sounding regretful. “Scans indicate that they are indeed rabbits, not holograms.”

“Where did you acquire this hat, Clint?” Thor asks, using his cloak to pick it up and examine it.

“The Avengers store room, why?” Clint replies, pleased that he finally has an answer for something in this chaos.

“This is of Asgardian make,” he says, peering under the rim, looking very much the dignified inspector, where it not for the rabbits hopping out of the hat and bouncing down his body. Natasha is fully in her element, taking pictures and probably posting them to her SHIELD social media accounts.

“This brand of trickery is fixated on the phrasing,” Thor says, placing the hat on the floor, “Speaking the words in reverse will deactivate the magic.”

“Only you, Barton, would accidentally activate a magic hat,” Natasha says, smacking his head.

“Jarvis, you have a recording of Clint’s words?” Steve asks, resting an arm around Tony’s shoulders. His cheeks are pink, and Tony wishes they could have some privacy.

“Oh hat of all wonders, release the rabbit within you!” Jarvis replays, modifying Clint’s voice to a falsetto.

“Way to kick me when I’m down, Jarvis,” Clint says, chuckling.

“I endeavor to serve, Agent Barton.”

“Clint, just say the magic words,” Tony says, leaning into Steve.

“Yes but before I do, Tony, may I remind you that you’re still in a thong?” Clint grins when both Steve and Tony blush, yet resolutely stand together.

“Clint, my patience has run out,” Natasha says, pushing him towards the hat.

“You within rabbit the release wonders all of hat oh!” Clint quickly says, waving his hand around the hat as a precaution. He lets out a whoop when the rabbit promenade stops.

“What are we going to do with the rest of the rabbits?” Steve looks at Tony, eyebrow raised.

“Have an Adopt an Avengers Bunny rally?” Tony suggests, wrinkling his nose at the hundreds of rabbits all over the common floor. “I’ll have Pepper organize something.”

“You will organize it,” Steve says, eyes twinkling, “As an apology to me.”

“You really want this to be your apology, when you can ask for literally anything else and I would do it for you?” Tony pouts, dreading the paperwork for the event.

“Still in public, guys,” Bruce says, petting as many rabbits as he can reach.

“Clean this mess up and then proposition me,” Steve whispers in Tony’s ear, before leaving him alone, with the rabbits and a smirking group of Avengers.

\---

Epilogue:

“Are you ready for this?” Steve is serious, looking intently into Tony’s eyes.

“Yes, we got this,” Tony says, smiling at him.

“Welcome to the 1st Annual Avengers Paintball Match,” Bruce announces into the megaphone, and all of them cheer. Natasha and Clint wave their SHIELD issued paintball guns when Bruce calls for Team BAMF. Steve and Tony pose with their modified Nerf paintball guns, as Team America. Tony had picked their names, arguing that America would be an awesome last name when they get married. The argument was derailed at the prospect of marriage, but the name held on.

“I, Bruce Banner, will be your host, and Thor Odinson will be the referee,” he continues, sitting on the makeshift podium in the common floor. “On the eve of the Barton Bunnies, we celebrate by pelting each other with paint. May the best team win!”

“First team to completely soak the other team with the hidden green paint, wins!” Thor booms, floating above them, “The vanquished are assigned to wash both teams’ clothes.”

Tony drapes himself over Steve, ignoring Thor’s detailing of the rules. He ruffles Steve’s hair, content that they have reached this place in their relationship. They didn’t get together immediately after the failed prank - they both had to work through their personal issues. That didn’t stop them from flirting, and of course, they continued with their art projects. Tony is particularly fond of the memory of their first kiss - Steve had just finished an intricate Starkcine model of the Iron Man armor, sans Hammer merchandise and Tony had kissed him, unable to resist his breathtaking smile.

Steve laughs at something Thor said, pressing a kiss against Tony’s hair. Tony cocks his gun, aiming it at Clint’s smirking face. Clint never fails to remind him that he was the one who brought them together. Steve turns to him, holding his hand as they wait for Bruce’s signal.

Tony squeezes his hand, and takes a deep breath. He’s ready for this. And when Steve looks for the last paint pellet, and he finds something else waiting for him, he’ll be ready. Tony smiles and looks forward to the game, their next adventure, and the rest of their lives.

“Three, two, one and go!”


End file.
